


The Pirate and the Prince

by bemusedbicycle, wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Pirate Emma, Prince Killian, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story about a pirate and the man who gave himself up for a ship and a chance at vengeance. Pirate!Emma, Prince!Killian AU. Birthday gift for the beautiful and talented Karen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pirate and the Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [passing-fanciful (kageygirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/gifts).



**The Pirate and the Prince**

_Well, now you’ve gone and done it, your highness._

Killian stepped aboard the Jewel of the Realm, the jaunty yellow paint filling him with fondness and just a touch of bitterness, the latter of which he directed at the woman standing near the helm.

She was beautiful; he wondered how he’d never had occasion to meet her in the decade or so since he’d been sailing with the royal fleet. When news reached his ears that the stolen galleon had been sighted just off the coast of Glowerhaven, he’d set sail right away, determined to reclaim his parents’ flagship and exact vengeance on the filthy blackguards who killed his brother and the heir to the throne of Misthaven.

This was hardly going as expected, however; he never thought he’d be bested by a pirate, let alone the most glorious and intriguing woman he’d ever had occasion to meet.

“Do we have a bargain, then, Captain?” she taunted, traces of mockery coloring the curl of her lips a delightful shade of irritating. She raised a brow, challenging him. He knew that his entire crew was looking on and looking toward him for guidance, their hands resting atop their hilts, ready to defend their leader and their prince. He had to be strong, to set an example. And to not allow this traitorous woman to learn his true identity.

“Done,” he said, pressing his lips together and stepping forward to offer his hand. The insouciant roll of her hips as she pushed off the wheel where she’d been leaning called out to him, but he quashed the feeling. Captain Jones of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy was a gentleman, even if Prince Killian was something of a cad. When she held out her hand to seal the deal, something about the arrogant set of her shoulders irked him, and before their hands touched, he spit in his palm and raised his gaze, meeting her eyes in challenge with a cocked eyebrow of his own.

She grinned then, and he thought it might have been a genuine smile of delight; with an intriguing sparkle in her eyes, she did not break their shared gaze as she lifted her own palm, likewise spitting into it before smacking his hand with hers, then again, two times, like at the horse auction he’d once attended with Father, the bargain given and accepted, just like in the old way.

“Well, gentlemen,” she called out after letting go his hand. A flurry of pirates surrounded him and before he was none-too-gently nudged toward the other ship, the one he’d used to find the Jewel, he looked at his helpless crew, his second pleading with large, horrified eyes. “It looks like we have an accord. Get your things, for we leave the Jewel in favor of this lesser vessel.” She turned her gleaming eyes to Killian and offered him her arm. “Captain. Shall we?”

Killian spared a grin before calling out to the Lieutenant. “Worry not, mates. You’ve reclaimed her majesty’s ship as ordered. Tell her… and tell my mother that I shall be fine.”

The last thing he heard as he was escorted off the deck of the Jewel and back onto his small cutter, his men making way with looks of grim acceptance on their faces, was a husky, feminine laugh, disbelieving and carefree in its ebullience.

-/-

“She’s a bit small, but she’ll do,” Captain Swan declared after the switching of crews was settled and the Jewel was on her way under the command of Lt. Smee. The man’s face was stoic as they made sail, watching his Captain (and prince) before they headed back to Misthaven.

“You shouldn’t comment on the size of a man’s ship,” Killian said through clenched teeth. “The Jewel is the grandest in the armada;  _anything_  pales in comparison.” He was not bound, which surprised him some, but when he considered the lethal-looking pirates surrounding him on all sides, both man and woman alike, he figured he could perhaps use their arrogance to his advantage. They didn’t know him, didn’t understand that he could hold his own; the problem was, he in turn did not know them, nor did he know their captain. The woman clad in leather breeches and a heavily detailed leather coat. The woman who kept shooting assessing glances his way.

A full day passed before they made berth on an island known as a haven for pirates. Killian awoke from his makeshift pallet in the belly of the small cutter to a bag being tied over his head; he was certain he was done for once the sounds of gulls and the shouts of men quite obviously in the act of unloading cargo made his ears; he figured he would be ransomed straightaway, sold off to an enemy of the kingdom for a handsome price.

But it would seem that this Captain Swan had other plans for him. He could feel himself being marched across the dock and onto another ship; his hands were bound behind his back this time, but he could hardly use them in this case, anyway; he had no idea where they’d taken him or whether he had been sold like so much chattel on the open market.

He was escorted across a deck, the dips and sways of the ocean subtle and comforting beneath his feet; then down stairs with a growled “watch yer step” his only warning, then taken through a doorway. He was stopped, manhandled, turned about, and told to sit. He realized he was on a bed, one far more comfortable than any ship he’d ever commanded. Without a further word, his escort left the room and he sat on the bed, hands still bound and head still covered, awaiting whatever was to happen next. He only prayed whomever was in charge of his destiny now did not ever ascertain his true identity.

It was quite a while before he felt cold, sharp metal at his wrists, deftly cutting through the rope binding them. As he flexed his wrists back and forth, the tingle of returning blood prickling his flesh, the bag was removed from his head; Killian had to blink several times to grow accustomed to the light, dim as it was, filtering from the windows of what was quite obviously the captain’s quarters.

Once his eyes adjusted, he looked to his right and was mildly surprised to see the Captain standing close enough that he could count three freckles dotting her chest just above the open expanse of her shirt. She had a cautious look on her face, as though she was wondering what he would do. Her body, as ever, stood at the ready, as if battle were imminent, and he supposed that was the way of any pirate, especially one holding captive a man of the law.

They stared at one another for countless minutes, and as he looked at this woman up close for the first time since trading his freedom for a ship, he was struck anew by her beauty. She did not carry herself as most women blessed with such looks did; there was no coquetry in her stance, no knowing looks passing from her to him. She simply assessed him, and he had no doubt that should he be foolish enough to attack, she would have her dagger at his throat in a trice.

“Well, Swan,” he finally said, ignoring the glow of triumph in her eyes that he was the first to break the silence. “Now that you’ve got me in your bed, what do you plan to do with me?” Perhaps it was beneath him, but something about her cool appraisal made him want to shake her, just to see how she would react.

“Bad form, Jones,” she murmured, a touch of amusement in her voice. “I thought men in your position were taught to be gentlemen.”

“Oh, I’m always a gentleman, love,” he said lightly. He leaned back on his elbows and allowed his legs to stretch out over the side of the bed. “Forgive my forward behavior. ‘Tis been a while since I’ve been near a beautiful woman. I merely forgot myself for a moment there. Won’t happen again.” He gave her a roguish grin, a thrill of defiance racing up and down his spine.

“Something tells me that it will,” she said dryly before stepping into the space between his splayed legs. She leaned down and he thought for one wild moment that she was going to kiss him, her face came so close to his. He breathed deeply and was assailed by several scents—the ocean, always the ocean; rum, if we were not mistaken, faint and sweet; and warm woman. Three of his very favorite things. It really had been a while since he’d been in the company of any woman, much less one that seemed to make his skin vibrate beneath its very surface.

He parted his lips to—do what, exactly, he was unsure; perhaps make banter, perhaps to breathe her in through his mouth—but before he could so much as quirk his mouth into the smile that had gotten him out of many a nasty situation, he felt a sharp prick above the large vessel pulsing in his neck.

“Behave, Jones. That was badly done of you. You are here as my guest, after all, and if there’s one thing that will not be tolerated on this ship, it’s bad form. You will address me as ‘Captain,’ and you will make no move to escape. In exchange, I will expedite your return to your kingdom as painlessly as possible.”

Killian swallowed before speaking, his mouth suddenly quite dry. She had leaned so close her lips would brush his if either of them moved, and he could see that her eyes were not merely green, but the clear grey-sage of the sea the moment before the heavens cracked open and unleashed a storm.

“Aye aye,  _Captain_ ,” he whispered, and the movement of his words did, indeed, bring the faintest brush of their lips together. She stilled and he could feel his eyes widen; were he not mistaken, the dilation of her pupils and the surprise in her face half a second before her eyes darted down to his mouth meant that she felt it as well, that thrill chasing down her body and settling somewhere below her belly.

Then there was a pierce and he winced; suddenly, she was no longer there, her hair a riotous and righteous flash of yellow as she spun quickly, gone from her own quarters and leaving him there clutching at his neck. He pulled his fingers away and saw a smear of crimson, felt a trickle of his own blood tickle down the column of his neck.

He looked about for something with which to staunch the bleeding, and when he found a rag he lifted it to his neck, pressing at the wound and flinching at the pleasure-pain he felt there.

“Aye, aye, indeed,” he said aloud, glancing around and wondering just how long the pirate intended on keeping him her “guest.”

-/-

“So, how did you come to acquire the Jewel?” he asked, feigning nonchalance. The pirate captain had come down some hours later with a bowl of hot stew and a mug of thick brown ale each, shooing away the short, almost-man who carried the tray of food. She had invited him to join her in dining and he accepted warily; after all, it would be bad form, indeed, to refuse. Besides, he wished an answer to his question. It had been bothering him, for a pirate she may be, but this Emma Swan did not seem the sort who would kill a man. By all accounts, Liam had been killed by a bloodthirsty scoundrel, and when news got back to the kingdom, it had been all Mother could do to prevent Killian from immediately setting out for vengeance. Instead, he had talked the queen into allowing him to take a cutter and a small crew of trusted men in order to ascertain what, exactly, had occurred when the crown prince’s life and ship had been taken.

Looking at Captain Swan across the table, he realized he did not want her to be the one to have slain his brother. He could not ask that, of course; she could not know that Killian was royalty, much less the new heir apparent. He doubted her sense of honor, pirate though she may be, would preclude ransoming royalty for a hefty price. And he needed to get back safe, if only to save his parents from the tragedy of losing another son.

Captain Swan chewed thoughtfully, swallowing and then taking a gulp of ale that would fell a man much less a svelte lady such as she, but Killian suspected nothing about this woman was as it seemed. Lady pirates were rare; lady pirate captains were unheard of. He wondered how it was that he hadn’t the occasion to at least hear her name, and he wondered if she were new to this life. In fact, he was coming to realize that there were many things about her that he wished to know about.

She refilled her mug and upon realizing she’d taken the last of the ale, she leaned across the table and poured from her own mug into his, giving him a small smile before seating herself once again. She sighed and looked out the window before speaking.

“I took it. That’s what we pirates do.”

He realized that was all he was to get without prodding. Wishing to hear her speak more, mostly because he wanted the entire story and not because he was enjoying himself despite the circumstances (never that), he kicked under the table, nudging her boot with his. She seemed startled at that and looked back at him, offering him another smile, this one less genuine and more forced.

_Please tell me you did not kill my brother._

“The man who had it was a filthy sonuvabitch, so I gutted him and tossed him down to Davy Jones. I took the ship as prize. I was going to sell it because fine as she was, I much prefer this old rig.” At that she beamed a smile that was so startling in its fondness and sincerity that he found himself caught in the bright shining happiness of it. A little stunned at the warmth suffusing his face, he was glad to realize she hadn’t noticed his sudden ogling. “But we had trouble unloading ‘er, and we were just on our way here to repaint the thing and try to remove all traces of royal armada when you came along.” She then lifted her mug to her lips and drank deeply, her eyes bright as she assessed him over the rim.

“Hmm.” He still could not ascertain whether this pirate had been the one to kill his brother, but he felt considerably lighter after her short speech. Liam was hardly filthy much less a sonuvabitch.

“You doubt me?” Her eyebrow raised and he saw a flash of ire light her eyes a deep shade of green.

“Hardly,” he said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. “I’m merely wondering if there is more to you than what I see before me.”

“And what might that be?”

He answered her, the words coming to his tongue in such a way that he was slightly surprised at his own assessment of her character because he knew what he said to be true, even though he hadn’t devoted any time to the actual thoughts.

“You are undoubtedly strong of character, due to a hard upbringing, possibly a lonely one. Therefore, you seized control of your own destiny long ago, turning to piracy…what, in a flight of fancy? Because you were not content with the lot of women and wished to direct your own fortunes?” She stilled at his words and he felt a surge of smug triumph. “You command loyalty and punish the unfaithful. Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? Someone took advantage of your trust and was punished terribly for it. At least, I hope so. Did you make the person suffer?”

To his surprise, she nodded stiffly.

“You were in love, then? With him or her?”

“Him,” she said tightly. “And no.”

“Never been in love, have you?”

“No. I have never been in love.”

He did not believe that for one moment, but he let it slide. He sensed that when this woman loved, she did it with ferocity, the kind of love that consumed both involved. She would not forgive a squandering of that love.

How intriguing.

“Me neither,” he said jovially, purposefully giving himself a carefree set to his shoulders and letting his charming smile out. He knew she would see through it, but he also knew that she was quite uncomfortable with the turn of conversation.

It wouldn’t be until later when he was lying on her bed and she at the helm that he would realize she  _allowed_  him to ask his questions. And he still had no earthly idea whether she had killed his brother.

-/-

“Captain, permission to go above deck.”

Every day had begun thus since leaving the pirate’s bay, and every day for the last week she had denied his request. Sometimes Henry would bring him food and the necessity, sometimes it would be another crewman or woman. But always, it was the Captain who supped with him. He fancied she enjoyed his company. They spoke of books (she favored Misthaven history and witch almanacs from some of the other realms, he surprised her by saying he preferred novels and folklore), and she told him of her exploits, that he was correct in his assumption that she had not been pirating long. He praised her for her leadership skills, she mocked him for being an uptight prig.

He was beginning to like her.

And desire her, but that was hardly a new thing. He had been desiring her the moment he realized the captain of the vessel that fired a warning shot and followed it up with an arrow precisely one inch from the tip of his nose was a woman whose hair seemed to command the wind to whip it about in waves that synchronized with the mood of the ocean.

_Do not try to seduce your captor, your highness._

She narrowed her eyes and raised an eyebrow, her way of saying, “this again?” But then a twinkle lit her eyes and a corner of her mouth curled up.

“All right.”

Unaccountably excited, Killian donned his boots and nervously ran his hand over his hair, wondering if he looked as pasty and unwell as he felt. Royal he may be, princeling and nobleman he may be, but he was still a man of the sea. He wanted outdoors, and he wanted to calm the confused sensations in his gut by looking at the endless expanse of water, to smell the breeze blowing and feel the stinging prickle of salt on his skin.

As he braced his hands at the rail and enjoyed everything he loved about sailing the open ocean, he felt the presence of the intriguing woman he’d been dreaming about at his side.

“You seem born for the ocean, your highness.”

“Aye. Both my brother and I have had sea legs since birth. Our nurse used to take us down to the docks to watch the fleet come in whenever they returned home from battle, and when we got older, Father was the first to show us how to tie a knot and how to chew on ginger to prevent illness, not that either of us ever got sick from the chop.”

“It’s unusual for royalty to encourage an occupation, is it not?”

“Well, it was rather progressive of Mother to allow both the heir and the spare to enter the navy, but I always thought she knew it would be useless to try and stop us. Besides…” His voice trailed off and he turned to her in horror, realizing she knew. And worse, he’d confirmed it. He had become so comfortable talking to the woman that he’d somehow let on that he was the prince.

Before he could stammer out a demurral, she leaned in, the pitch and yaw bringing her so close to him that he could once again smell rum and this time lemons. Her lips pursed and he focused on them, watching the fascinating way just the corners lifted in a deceptively sweet smile.

“I’ve known this entire time, your highness. Don’t worry. None of them,” and here she chucked her head at her crew, who was doing their best to ignore that their captain was so close and chummy with their captive, “know the truth.”

He could no more help the smirk that presented itself than he could help the tease in his voice as he responded. He reached out and tugged on a wayward lock of her hair and said, “That’s very kind, Captain. I have to wonder what you plan on doing with your information.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He would, indeed.

They continued to stand there, facing one another. Perhaps it was the soft breeze in the air, perhaps it was his simple joy in being on deck; likely it was the fascinating woman standing before him, but Killian realized he was enjoying himself immensely.

-/-

Several days later, a storm hit. He could smell it in the air, the soft dread curling in his gut long before he made the connection to the slight electrical charge of the gusts billowing the sails. When he looked to the captain he could see the same furrow in her brow that he knew was in his, and he wondered what he could do to help.

When she foolishly risked her life for one of her crew once the storm hit, he felt utter terror turn him into a furious thing. When she was thrown overboard by an errant, demonic wave, he acted without thought, tying a rope about his waist and hollering a command to the crew remaining aboveboard not to pull him up until he had her.

She caught cold as a result, and he was the one to nurse her to health, grumbling every time she made attempt to rise from the bed he insisted she sleep in, wondering aloud with incredulity where, exactly, she thought he would run off to were he to sleep in a chair without her looking over him. He was the one who spooned broth between her lips, coaxing her to take just one more, and then another, until the entire bowl was drained.

He had been the one who had been utterly terrified when they’d dragged her from the ocean, her body cold, the edges of her lips no longer flush but blue. He had been the one who refused the dry quilt wrapped about him by Henry, simply shrugging out of his coat and barking at the crew to bring hot water and every blanket they had.

He had been the one who stripped the both of them down to their bare skin, knowing the best way to warm a body as close to death as hers from the near-freezing temperature of the water was the warmth and heartbeat of another.

Somewhere in his desperation to save the woman, he’d started to call her Emma.

And when she finally awoke from her almost-death, she’d called out to him, asking for Killian.

-/-

A month into his stay with the pirates, they were attacked by rivals.

Being a far superior swordsman than any of them, it only seemed fair and good form that he join the ranks defending the ship, and when he’d flung her felled dagger at a bastard who dared rend the front of her shirt in two, he’d never felt such satisfaction in killing a man. The fierce shine in her eyes was so intense as they stared at one another from across the deck with bodies strewn between them that he knew—if he were to go to her, he would be unable to keep himself from kissing away the anger that she had been treated so. As she stood there, clasping the ruined edges of her shirt in a tight grip, he longed for nothing more than to comfort her. It must have shown in his face for she turned from him and began barking orders at her men to rid her ship of bodies and see what spoils lay on the other vessel.

Killian hefted the cutlass he’d taken from one of the rival pirates and twirled it a couple times, his entire body stiff and tight with a very sudden, unwanted longing.

 

-//-

 

She should have sold him at the market like she damn well intended to.

Prince or not, he wasn’t worth the trouble. Not worth the way his eyes lingered on the inch of bare skin between her vest and her leathers with obvious desire, that tongue of his swiping at bits of lemon that he’d stolen off the center table in her quarters. Not worth the way his hand had taken to falling to the small of her back when he greeted her below deck.

Not worth the way her stomach flipped and her mouth went dry when their gazes met between twisting sails and sea breezes – his hair caught in a ferocious mess on the top of his head, the freedom of being on open water curling his lips until his teeth flashed white and her fingers clenched at her sides.

Definitely not worth the way he had whispered her name in quiet desperation, the cold so intense it pulled at her bones, everything disjointed and murky as her vision swam right along with the god damned rocking of the boat. Not worth the way his own name had slipped from her lips when he wrapped himself around her, bare and deliciously warm, his palms flat against her spine as he curled her close and pressed her face into his neck.

Unfortunately, she remembered every sordid detail about that night when he pulled her from the sea— how perfectly his hips fit against hers, how the hair on his navel tickled the soft skin of her belly.

Somewhere along the way he stopped being her profitable captive and started being Killian.

_Fucking hell._

-/-

The chaos on deck was muted in her quarters, the shouts of her men as they climbed between the captive ship and her own muffled underneath solid wood weathered by many a storm. The stillness calmed her, the gentle rhythm of feet moving and heavy cases being dragged, and she let the adrenaline slowly slip from her skin as she shed her ruined shirt, tossing it to the corner with a roll of her eyes as she set about finding another.

Those mongrels better damn well have fine silks to choose from in their loot. That shirt had been one of her favorites.

She was not surprised when the door opened behind her, and she certainly didn’t bother covering up any faster. He’d seen it all before – and half-frozen at that. She took her time doing up the buttons as he fought admirably to keep his gaze above the neck and she smirked, always amused when he played the gentleman. She let her fingertips graze the swell of her breast and his eyes narrowed, throat bobbing with a particularly aggressive swallow. He had fresh blood on his skin and on his clothes, the cutlass he’d apparently claimed as his booty hanging loose at his side, and she had the unwelcome thought that he looked good as a pirate – the heat of battle still thrumming in his veins as he shifted from foot to foot in her doorway.

“Something I can do for you?” Her own voice was gruff with the close call, her fingers shaking the tiniest bit as she did up the last necessary button. She didn’t bother threading the final seven through their loops, content with slipping on a vest to secure the sheer fabric into place. Still he watched her silently, like a fly caught in her web.

She appreciated the metaphor.

“I wanted –“ he swallowed again, his fingers twitching at his side. “I wanted to make sure you were well, after –“

“Well.” She snorted at his word choice and rolled her eyes. She’d hardly categorize a close brush with death, saved only by her own dagger and his quick hand, doing  _well_. Still, she squared her shoulders and settled her lips into the callous smirk she allowed for pirating.

“This wasn’t my first battle.” She strode across the room to the basin she had filled earlier that morning, reaching for a clean washcloth from the shelf and dipping it into the tepid water. Blood has a tendency of lingering when left to dry, and she had no desire to wear _spineless savages_ for the next fortnight. “I can take care of myself.”

“Surely.” She didn’t need to look up to see him mirror her eye roll, the sarcasm heavy on his tongue. A flare of irritation licked up her spine and she scrubbed at her palms a bit harder, the water in the bowl turning a hazy brown. “You certainly didn’t need  _my_ assistance. Not when you had things so clearly under control.”

She chose to remain silent, knowing if she opened her mouth now it would only result in further frustration or his intestines on the floor of her cabin. He had been correct in his assumptions on her life prior to piracy, and correct again when he assumed she had loved and lost and swore off letting her heart dictate her actions ever again – locking it away beneath layers of resentment and self-loathing until her skin prickled with it – until a ship from the royal fucking armada showed up and a moron with eyes as blue as the sunless sky decided to trade himself for a heap of sails and (honestly, rather lacking) weathered wood.

She sighed and pressed the heels of her wet palms into her eyes. “You should clean up in the galley. I’ll not have you dragging blood into my bed.”

His breath was sudden and warm against the backs of her hands, the cutlass dropping to the floor with a muted thump. Warm fingers encircled her wrists and gently pulled her hands away from her face, and the look in his eyes was not one she was used to – confusion melded with desire and longing – but something else, something bigger and she – she couldn’t –

“It’s your bed now, is it?” The obvious innuendo in his words was lacking, that same borderline desperate look in his gaze making her heart do double time in her chest, mingling with adrenaline to give her that heady feeling like she could damn well barrel through a wall. She breathed in sharp through her nose, and he took a step closer, nose brushing her own as the tips of his boots nudged against her instep. It was just like that first night – when she had done her best to lay the intimidation thick, secure her place as Captain and let him know that  _she_ would run the show, that his role aboard her vessel would be acquiescence to her every whim.

She wrenched herself from his grip, taking a step back and staring hard at the floor, urging herself to calm and not do something stupid like press her mouth to his and see if he still tasted like the oranges they plundered last week. She stepped around him and headed for the door, stopping only when the handle was tight in her grip, the grooves of the edges digging into her skin and leaving marks.

“I’m going to see about the ship. Clean yourself up.” She breathed out when he did, their sighs an echo of one another. “And then come above deck.”

She pretended not to hear his  _aye, aye, Captain._

-/-

He didn’t come above deck again and she told herself she was grateful for it, settling into the duties of Captain. She chose to inspect the bounty as her crew cleared the fallen men off the deck, the splashes of bodies falling to the depths interrupting the smooth glide of the ship through easy waters. There was a broadsword with a curved gold handle that would do nicely for her collection, and she swung it back and forth in her hand, testing the weight and the way the metal cut through air. The sword belonged to royals, she knew it – a smooth set to the way it moved, a detailed and delicate carving of an emblem upon the hilt. She wondered if she showed Killian whether he would know to which family this sword belonged.

Dusk fell quickly, brilliant shades of oranges and reds dancing upon the sails as the sun fell beyond the horizon, the wheel of her ship steady and comforting beneath her palms. Henry had given her an appraising look when she dismissed him from his duty but he had wisely kept his mouth shut from further comment, disappearing to the stern with his thick book bound in leather, his cap pulled low over his ears. The fading sun changed to the slow crawl of dark and still, Killian did not come above deck.

She told herself she was grateful for that.

But the comfort of the sea beneath her feet soon turned to suffocating solidarity – the way he had shouted her name when that man had pinned her to her own bloody ship (fire burned through her veins at even the memory of it, the way she had been bested on her  _own fucking ship_ ) – how Killian had thrown her dagger without a moment’s hesitation. She thought about the look in his eyes and how it was the same one he sometimes had when they were having supper together in the frail light of the candle, shadows dancing over his face and his gaze dancing over her.

She wanted him. She knew that. She’d wanted him since he had been on his knees before her, arms bound behind his back and cool confidence twisting his brow. She had seen the potential and possibility in the strong lines of his body and it was only exacerbated by his quick wit and thoughtful sentimentality.

She should have sold him at the market like she damn well intended to.

But perhaps there was a solution to this… fond affection. She didn’t know what else to name it, wouldn’t dare venture into the possibility of  _more –_  dismissing the mere idea of it with a firm shake of her head and a reminder of irons clapped about her own wrists, brown eyes that deceived her and sent her to the stockades without so much as a backwards glance.

No, she wouldn’t consider more.

But perhaps there was possibility for something.

She set below deck as soon as she called for Henry, her steps renewed with purpose as she clambered down the narrow hallway that led to her quarters. The door was closed and she wondered if she should give him any warning at all before shedding her clothes – or if she should just climb atop him until her thighs were balanced on either side of his head and he set that sarcastic mouth of his to work.

A combination of the two, possibly. She always did enjoy extended foreplay.

She pushed through the door with her leg, her hands at her vest before her eyes even adjusted to the dim light. It seemed he didn’t deem it necessary to light the candles because the cabin was shrouded in darkness with only the light of the full moon as her guide, her eyes blinking rapidly as she finally focused on him sprawled across her bed and –

Apparently he didn’t deem it necessary to lock the door when pleasuring himself, either.

He doesn’t notice her entrance, otherwise occupied with his hand wrapped around his cock and his fist in her sheets, his hips lifting lightly against her bed with every smooth pass of his palm. He groaned out a delicious noise between clenched teeth when his thumb dragged rough against the thick vein along the underside and she felt a corresponding tension low in her belly, a subtle ache in the place between her thighs. She must have made a noise of appreciation because he suddenly went rigid in his prone position, his hand still moving gently up and down his length despite the interruption, like he just couldn’t help himself.

“Emma, I –“

“I believe I told you to call me Captain.”

She closed the door behind her, flicking the lock and delighting in the way his hand gripped himself a bit tighter, another desperate noise lodging in the base of his throat. She walked over to the table and lit a candle before taking a step closer to the bed, her fingers going back to her vest and continuing their journey along the buttons until she was at his side, perching lightly on the edge of the bed. She continued to work at her vest until all the buttons were undone and she could slip out of it. She turned her attention back to him when the thick, red material with ornate embroidery dropped to the ground and placed her palm flat against his thigh, feeling the way his skin burned.

“Don’t stop,” she ordered. His gaze searched her face for a silent, still moment – no doubt looking for the hidden motive or test – so she let him read her, find whatever it was he needed to see. She knew there was naked longing in her own features, in the slide of her tongue along her bottom lip, and when his lips curled up into something feral and dark, she felt another deep twinge between her legs.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

This time, she smiled.

His gaze dropped below her neck as his hand resumed its work, intent on the jut of her breasts through the sheer fabric of her shirt. She dipped her fingertips in the gap of the material and he made another strangled noise, her thumb just barely skating over a painfully tight nipple. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, and his hand moved faster.

“This is how this is going to work,” she began, her teeth closing over her bottom lip as she let her gaze trail languidly over the hollow of his throat, across his collarbones to his broad chest and down further. He had cleaned himself before getting into her bed, thank whatever gods there may be, his body already bared to her hungry gaze. “You’re going to do as I say –“ He snorted an interruption even as his hand continued to work at his cock, and she decided he might need some further incentive to behave.

She slid back and peeled her shirt over her head, hands immediately cupping her breasts and thumbs flicking at puckered flesh, her leg swinging over his until she straddled his knees. She tilted her head at him and grinned at the frustrated set of his mouth.

“You’re  _going_  to do as I say.” She released one breast to trail her forefinger around his knee, her nail digging and dragging into the soft flesh on the inside of his thigh until just below where he was throbbing and wanting. “We’re going to fuck, and then once I’ve had my fill of you –“ Her knuckles grazed the back of his hand with every smooth twist of his wrist. A stilted groan whispered in the space between them when she moved her hand just the barest hint more, tangling her fingers with his and tightening his grip. “– you’ll be free to go.”

His eyes flared wide at that, panic peering through the cloud of lust. She didn’t know what to do with his sudden show of emotion so she ignored it, dropping her hips down low until she could grind against his knee. He pressed it up in response, and the pressure was delicious.

“So that’s it, love?” She tutted with a swivel of her hips and he rolled his eyes, their hands still working in tandem over his cock. He was thick and hard and scorching, and she wanted to know what he felt like inside of her – against her – above her and around her.

“ _Captain._ ” He corrected himself with all the sarcasm he could muster while on the brink of euphoria. “And what if I’ve not had my fill of you?” His hand suddenly released and he grabbed her wrist in the same way he had done earlier, thumb pressing into her pulse point as he reared up beneath her. He moistened his lips and the tip of his tongue grazed hers, their faces so close it would only take a shift of her jaw for their lips to meet. “What if I am not satisfied?”

She didn’t bother responding, instead finally,  _finally_  closing the infinitesimal space between them and sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. She wasn’t gentle, had a feeling he didn’t want her to be, and she scraped her teeth along his lip until he groaned and slid his hands beneath her ass, shifting her forward until his cock was trapped between them and his hand was in her hair. His arm shook with the restraint of holding himself back and she changed the angle with a grin, whispering  _good boy_ when he breathed out a shaky exhalation.

She had the distinct feeling she wouldn’t be satisfied either, because his kiss was supposed to be a disappointment – the reality of his lips on hers paling in comparison for her far too-frequent daydreams.

_Fuck_.

_More_.

She shoved at his shoulders and chased his lips down, grinding her hips against his until he hit her just right through the thick material of her leather. It was not enough but it was something, and she was far too impatient to go through the laces right now. He seemed to read her as well as he constantly does because his palm smoothed along her belly and down the front of her pants, his hand wasting no time finding the slick flesh between her legs. She bit the inside of her cheek against a groan when he ground his palm against her, his fingers slipping easily through wetness.

He didn’t make a comment, as anticipated. Instead, his breathing hitched and the arm not occupied slung low around her waist, holding her down against him.

“Would it please the Captain if I made her come?” His teeth tugged on the lobe of her ear and she bit the inside of her mouth harder, drawing blood. There was a teasing lilt to his voice but a promise as well, dark hints of the not-so-precious prince falling through the cracks. His thumb grazed her clit and her body twitched in his grasp, his fingertips digging into her hip and keeping her steady.

It had been a while since it’d been anything besides her own hand.

It had been a while since she felt this much.

“Just do it,” she grit out, and the motion of his hand became more sure – two fingers slipping into her easily while his thumb continued to work at her clit. He twisted his hand when she twisted her hips and –  _yes, that –_ he used the arm around her waist to push her up abruptly, following and mouthing at her breasts, teeth pulling at a nipple until she finally relented and sighed, hands threading through his hair and then –

“I want to see all of you.”

She wanted to retort with a smart comment, remind him that he’d already seen her and been pressed against her, but something about the way he looked at her with reverence, like he really meant what he said – Emma swore long ago that she would never let a man get the better of her again, but this particular man was different, her heart and her body insisted that he was different. He was no pirate, but she decided to let him take her, anyway.

Deciding no words were necessary, she simply put her hand on his bare chest and curled her fingers in the fascinating thatch of hair there before shoving lightly, enjoying the look of dark satisfaction on his face. She stood, right there on the bed, having to tilt her head down to avoid hitting the beams above her. With her hair hanging around her face she kept looking at him, to watch his reaction as she dropped her hands to the lacing of her leathers. Wasting no time in drawing the moment out, she made quick work of them, wriggling her hips and enjoying the lazy way his head followed her every movement until her pants were down around her ankles. She kicked them away and knelt down, grasping his cock and squeezing until he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.

She worked him steadily and thoroughly, his eyes closing and his jaw clenching twice. She let go of him abruptly and his eyes popped open, his lips parting with what she was sure was a ready protest, so she brought one hand before her face and licked her palm slowly, smirking when his eyes widened with lust. She lowered her hand and once again took him with a firm grasp. A low, feral growl rumbled in his chest and she suddenly decided she could no longer stand it. She wanted him, and she wanted him right now.

She shifted up his body until she was straddling him and his hands came up, grasping her thighs. She lowered herself down and hissed at the contact, his cock brushing right where she wanted it. And he wanted it there, too, if the way his hips started lifting were any indication.

“Emma—”

“Captain.”

“Captain. Permission to—“

“Take me.  _Now_. Your highness.”

His eyes narrowed at that and before she realized it, he had neatly flipped her on her back, somehow maneuvering deftly on the narrow mattress until he was above her and on her, the delicious torture of hot skin making her feel as she hadn’t felt in…ever. Her entire body was trembling with need, and Emma Swan doesn’t need anything.

It was too much, it’s far too much. He was just a bargaining chip, a source of coin. What promised to be a good fuck. She didn’t need him, she didn’t.

“Emma, love. Emma, look at me.”

She did. Stupid of her, but she did. Had he not flipped her, had he still been on his back when he looked at her as he was doing, she would have run. That’s what she told herself as he lowered his lips to hers, and when he kissed her, she forgot all of her reservations and her needs and not needs; she forgot everything except Killian. The way he smiled and the way he smelled, and the way he made her feel. In this moment, what he made her feel was wanted, needed.

When she kissed him back, she felt it down to the curling of her toes, the way his tongue tickled the seam of her lips, images of his tongue tickling other seams making her pant into his mouth. She brought her hands up to the scruff of his jaw, trying to drag him into her more, wanting more of him.

He made a sound, a delicious, quiet moan of need, one she understood well. As she kissed him back, enjoying the rasp of his tongue against hers and the grit of his beard beneath her fingers, she surrendered to him; a first for any man, pirate or prince or no. It wasn’t until he began rutting against her, his cock sliding along where she was most sensitive that she even remembered that they were utterly bare, skin-to-skin, pressed together so intimately. Her mind told her to run; her instinct told her to stay.

He pulled back, his face hovering above hers. His brow furrowed and he brought his hand up, gently brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek.

“What is it, love?” He was so gentle in that moment, like a lover, like he was truly concerned about her. She wondered briefly what he would do if she told him no, to get off her, to get the hell off her ship.

She knew he would do whatever she asked. That was why she didn’t.

Instead she smiled, feeling vulnerable and hating it but also not hating it, because it was just Killian. He smiled back, tremulous at first, his eyes large and luminous in the light of the moon filtering through the windows above her bed.

Emma lifted her head, noticing the way his eyes followed her movements. She opened her mouth and bit his chin gently before settling her head back once again. Then she quirked her eyebrow at him, silently urging him to get to work. His hips had stilled so when he moved again she gasped, the smooth glide of him against her feeling fucking wonderful. She could not remember it feeling quite so nice, not ever. Fast and furious at times, yes – a means to end. Not like this.

Her hips were rocking restlessly against his, her feet planting in the mattress to get leverage as she shifted, opening her legs wider, wanting him to move. He smirked before lowering his head again, that damn cocky smile she liked so much rubbing along her jaw.

“You are – ”

Infuriating, she was going to say infuriating. That was when his hips jerked lower, dipping down briefly before snapping back up. The tip of him brushed at her and then his breath caught as she gasped. He buried his face in her neck and let out a hot, explosive breath that made her shudder as his cock entered her. He went slowly, like he was trying to be gentle, but she wasn’t having it. She widened her legs and jerked her hips up, the both of them gasping as he slid all the way home.

He held that for a moment, mouthing senseless words and curses into her neck before pulling out, nearly all the way. Then he held that position, and just when she was going to scream or smack him or thrust up, he slammed down into her, the friction hitting her exactly in the right place.

“Gods,” he groaned, over and over again as he finally began to fucking move. “Emma.”

She may have moaned his name back, she wasn’t sure, she was far too distracted by curling tendrils of sensation and trying to keep her legs steady because he became frantic, moving in and out of her, the delicious slide making her gasp and beg when he found just the right spot. She didn’t often come when under a man, but she really wanted to with this one, so she moved a hand down  between them, her palm getting trapped between the relentless snap of his hips against hers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he gasped. He moved his head and bit her shoulder, the sharp pain sending a trill down to where they were joined. He leaned on one elbow and with his other arm reached for her hand, his fingers circling around her wrist and near yanking her arm away. He trapped her hand above her head, never once breaking his stride as his cock continued to drive into her, the sensation and building pressure near making her eyes roll into her head. “Emma,” he said, and when she didn’t respond, her head beginning to turn this way and that as she chased the explosive pleasure she knew was coming, he said in a firm, commanding voice, “Emma, look at me. Right here, love.”

She did.

He returned her gaze, his eyes so earnest, and when her back arched at a particularly delicious drive of his relentless cock, they turned dark; he sneered slightly before doubling his efforts. She never once looked away, watching as his jaw dropped, his mouth lax, for once.

She lifted her other hand above her head until it touched his and he gathered it until he had her pinned by both wrists. Then a terrible, arrogant smirk curled his lips before his other hand curled under her neck, his nails scratching her skin. His movements became erratic then and she felt it all building, like her body could not take it anymore but she wanted it to never end, wanted him there always, wanted him to always look at her like she was a wonder and precious to him right before smirking.

But then all thoughts ceased and her body went rigid as her nerves burst in sensation, all white-hot relief that seared her from her pelvis and radiated throughout her body. She began to laugh then, soft huffs of disbelief as he continued to move in her, hitting her in a new place. She came down from her first and wondered if there would be a second but then his body began to stiffen and a most delicious look of utter disbelief wrecked his face, his entire form stiffening, his cock pulsing inside of her.

She relaxed on a gasp, her muscles still shuddering along with him, he was shuddering as he lowered his body fully onto her. After a moment he let go her wrists and she curled her arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed, lazy kisses across his throat. He lifted his hips gingerly and when he rolled to his side so that his back was against the wall, she began to protest until his arms wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest. She insinuated her leg in between his, bringing the other against his thigh so that they were fully pressed against each other.

There was a stillness in the air and in her soul that she hadn’t felt for quite some time. She almost drifted off with the way he traced nonsense into the skin of her lower back but there was something else, something she owed him. Something she meant to tell him (or not tell him) before he offered himself in trade for a ship and got her instead.

“The man who killed your brother.” His hand stilled against her back, fingers flexing and digging into the twin dimples at the base of her spine. “I wasn’t lying when I said I sent him to the depths. But there was another. The man who spilled your brother’s blood was working for another.”

His eyes shined with the brilliance of revenge in the pale moonlight, his jaw setting firmly.

“His name is Gold, and I will take you to him.” She reached behind her and laced her fingers with his. “I’ll help you kill him.”

-/-

He slit Gold’s throat as she watched, his face an indiscernible mask of fury and grief and afterward – after Gold’s body had been disposed of and he stared at the stain of crimson on the deck of her ship – after they had retired to her quarters and he’d fucked away the demons and memories and remorse – after, when they were lying silent next to one another –

“Do you think your crew could use another member?”

A smile curled the corners of her lips.


End file.
